


Better stay in, it’s looking pretty apocalypse outside

by penguistifical



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sneaking in my Watcher's Crown appearance headcanon, taking place shortly after 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguistifical/pseuds/penguistifical
Summary: “I wasn’t very kind to you,” Jon begins, and is cut off by Martin’s chuckle.“You really weren’t. Elias actually said something to me about that once.”“...he did?”some looks at how various couples are handling things after the Eye opens
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	Better stay in, it’s looking pretty apocalypse outside

**Author's Note:**

> me: we have other drafts to work on, you know, we don't need to start a new one about couples during the Eyepocalypse  
> my brain: ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> this one gets a cw: body horror

The Panopticon and the Institute have fused into a defiance of physical limitations, an improbable architecture that stretches up, and up, and _up_.

The top floor remains remarkably similar to Elias’s old office. The walls, of course, have been replaced with the purest glass, such that Elias might look out and survey his new kingdom.

He wanders back and forth in this pinnacle, varying the direction and desecration he views. His outfit wouldn’t have been thought out of place for his normal business day, but the skull he carries might have raised a few eyebrows. Or not. It had been the Institute, after all.

Elias twitches every now and then, adjusting to the new circlet of eyes that adorns his brow. It reminds him of the eye patterning on certain spiders, a feeling he doesn't want to explore.  
  
“And to think, I once said I only have two,” Elias chuckles, executing a series of blinks that travel across his forehead. He snugs the skull more comfortably under his arm.

“Look…” Elias breathes, putting his fingertips to the glass. There’s no danger of smudges. The barrier is exactly what he wishes it to be, and he wishes to See.

“All of this, because of me.” Elias sighs in deep satisfaction. “For me, even. Any humans below may look up from whatever realm is holding them both dear and prisoner, see my tower, and know that all of their suffering is being offered up in fealty to the Eye.”

He repositions the skull slightly, as if affording it a better view, before meandering over to the other side of his office. He drinks in the distant anguish, licking his lips unconsciously.

“Whether it was my luck, my fate, my puppet strings pulled by the Web, it none of it matters. I wanted to be here, and here I am in victory, at last.” He pauses, running a hand lightly down the smooth glass before adjusting the whistle around his neck. He’d found it on the ground of the Panopticon, the only remnant of Peter Lukas. “You really would have liked it here, Peter. I daresay it’s everything you might have wanted in life. In some ways, our goals really weren’t so different.” 

Elias examines the distant patches of fog, gazing at the muted frenzied desperation within that's being lapped up as the Forsaken’s ambrosia. 

“Except, well, your fondest wish of the heart was to die all by your lonesome, wasn’t it.” He traces a finger gently down the glass, tapping against the distant view of one of the Lonely’s domains.

“As for myself, I never wanted to die. And…” Abruptly, Elias rips the whistle from his neck and hurls it to the floor.

“How _dare_ you leave me alone.” The man snarls, and then, the Beholder gasps, taking in the infinite sights of a world submerged in terror. The crown of eyes ringing his brow snaps open and Elias feels his head loll back with the absolute bliss of getting everything he’s ever wanted.

The skull of Barnabas Bennett tumbles from his twitching fingers to the unforgiving ground, and fractures.  
  


* * *

The tunnels beneath the Institute are no longer Smirke’s lovingly careful geometric placements. They’ve been shuffled and rearranged to the point where no balance remains. The set of spiraling ramps and steps is enough to make the Distortion feel cozy.

But Basira isn’t lured so easily into madness. She paces on, despite the dark and the damp. Her torch ran out hours ago, but she can somehow see through the tunnels as if an invisible candle bobs above her head, can see just enough to know what's a few feet in front of and behind her.

“Daisy! Where are you?”

Basira had convinced people not to burn down the Institute, knowing that Daisy was still down here somewhere. But when she'd gone down to the tunnels to look for her partner, the world had ended and she'd become trapped.

She does Know that Daisy is still down here somewhere, the way she Knows what’s in front of her in the tunnels despite having no torch. Her awareness of these things she shouldn’t realize seems potentiated now that the Eye rules. It’s a small mercy that she’ll take advantage of.

“Daisy, I’m here!”

They’re the only two things down here, Basira knows that as well. She’d seen Julia Montauk howl to the sky in visceral rage, not stopping to mourn as Trevor fell and died, slashed open by Not-Sasha's claws. She doesn’t know where Julia ended up, whether she’d also fallen or if she's out thrilling in a new world full of delectable prey.

“Daisy, I need you. Come out, already.”

Basira’s brought one of their pillowcases. She’d been trying, so help her, to lure Daisy out with the scents of home and safety before they both got trapped beneath the Institute.  
  
It’s probably the best place for her to be, she thinks matter of factly.

She’s in the best spot to be able to help someone take down Jonah in his tower. She’s at the heart of the action, a meaningful and strategic post. She just doesn’t want to go it alone.

“Dai-”

Something’s around the corner.

If Basira keeps going, she’ll see it right in front of her. Now that she’s paused, she can hear heavy and rough breathing, the shifting of thick claws scraping on the stone as the beast waits for her to round the wall so it can spring. There’s a scratch of something rubbing along the arch high above her head, near to the ceiling - the creature is huge.

Basira listens and notes all of this, though it’s getting hard to hear over the blood pounding behind her ears like a drum urging her to flee.  
  
“There you are.” Basira calls, steeling herself. “I’ll kill whatever it is you’ve become and have my girlfriend back, if you please.”

A snarl like the chorus of a starving wolf pack drifts around the corner, lifting all the hairs on the back of Basira’s neck.  
  
“No, I won’t be caught up in this game of chase. I know who I am, and I won’t be hunted. Daisy, I know who you are, too. I _know.”_

The growl grows in volume as Basira speaks. She plants her feet.

“You can be angry, Daisy. You should be, it’s a mess right now. But, I need you to listen.”  
  
There’s a horrible grating rasp of a voice, the scrape of a bear trap against granite. “ **Run.”**

“I won’t. I’m afraid for you, I always am, but I will not be afraid _of_ you, Daisy Tonner.” Basira waits for one breath, two. “I’m coming over now.”  
  
She rounds the corner, and sees that the passage is entirely blocked by the creature that Daisy’s become. The monster is shifting in anticipation, digging its claws into the concrete, but not pouncing, not striking. Basira watches as Daisy slowly lowers her head with a sigh.

“That’s my girl.”

Basira sits down next to her, rummaging through the pack she'd brought back when she still needed to eat and drink. She doesn’t really need to replenish her strength this way, but it’s still something to do while she thinks about their next move. She offers Daisy a granola bar and water, but the beast shakes its head. Maybe she only eats meat now? Well, it’s not like they don’t already keep a separate kitchen. The whole idea of _after_ is so far away anyway, she doesn’t need to think about it for now.

They’re at the very bottom of the Panopticon, Jonah’s at the very top. She has no idea how they’re even going to get Daisy out of the tunnels, let alone start climbing the tower.

“ **D** **…”** Daisy lets out a stuttered breath and shakes her head with the frustration of trying to form words with an elongated face and inhuman teeth.

“It’s all right, take your time.”  
  
Haltingly, Daisy manages to bite out, “ **Read any good books lately?”** and grins, well, wolfishly, as Basira laughs herself to tears in relief at having her partner back.

It’s going to be a long journey to get up to Jonah, but they’ll do it. One step at a time.

* * *

Melanie sits on the ground by the heater, slowly scritching under The Admiral’s chin. The front door closes.

“Any different?” she calls to Georgie.

“No, it’s still pretty apocalypse out.” Georgie answers, resigned. 

“You know," Melanie says tonelessly, "I was just thinking that I was so glad I got out when I did, that nothing worse could possibly happen.” Melanie had been cleaning up the audio from a new segment Georgie’d recorded when the world went to shit. Just normal stuff, like she’d dreamed of doing again. Living.

The Admiral butts Melanie’s chin hard, startling a laugh out of the former avatar of the Slaughter, and she resumes dutifully scratching behind his ears.

Georgie settles down next to them, wrapping her arm around Melanie’s shoulders and holding tight.  
  
“I wanted to protect you," she confides to Melanie. "I was so _angry_ when Jon came over. And now, well, this. I’m afraid we’re both in for it now.”

“Are you?” Melanie asks. "Afraid?"

“No, ‘course not.” 

Realization hits them both at the same time, and they speak over each other in their sudden enthusiasm.

“I don’t think the Eye can see through me, and I j-”  
“Hey, none of the Entities can use m-”

They leave off interrupting each other, laughing in excitement.

“I think we’re actually untouchable,” Melanie says wonderingly.

“Yeah. I’m going to go outside, then. Might be somebody nearby we can help.” Georgie hesitates. “Do you want to stay in here and mind the Admiral? I don’t want to put you through anything, Mel'.”

“That one was out of your hands a while ago, Georgie. I'd rather stay with you."

“All right then." Georgie brushes a kiss against her cheek. "We may as well get our bearings, find out how bad it is. Want to go out in it in five?”

Melanie grins, and it feels strange. It’s not the Slaughter-induced and battle frenzied grimace that painfully stretched her face until it split. It’s just a smile, a real smile. She'd forgotten how it felt to be rightfully furious on her own terms. She’s not sure if there’s no time to examine this feeling, or if there’s all the time that remains in the world.

“Come to think of it,” she tells Georgie, laying her head back against her girlfriend, “I’ve had worse dates. Let’s go out for a few hours. I’ll get The Admiral’s carry backpack.”  
  
Georgie gives her a quick squeeze. “It’s you and me and The Admiral against the world. Come on, cohost.”

* * *

Martin stares forlornly at an empty tea cup, and Jon shakes his head.

“Like I told you, Martin. This isn’t a world where you can trust comfort. If there’s even any comfort left.”  
  
Martin puts down the thankfully empty tea cup on the counter, but turns to him with a smile. “Well, I think you might be wrong on that account, O’ all-seeing specter of doom.”

Jon has a second to be perplexed before Martin enfolds him a hug, holding him close.

Jon sighs and relaxes for the first time in hours.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder.

“I was just hoping to bring you tea,” Martin says, forlorn that he can't lean on one of his fondest gestures of affection, and Jon huffs out a laugh. "It's not that you don't have a right to be, but you just seemed so, um, extra miserable."

Jon nods. “I’ve become this, this collection of knowledge, this Archive, and I still have so many questions." He rolls his eyes. "It’s just unfortunate the person most likely able to answer all of them is is gleefully swanning around his impossible tower.”  
  
“What a prick,” Martin mutters, unconsciously mimicking Tim in a way that startles them both. Nostalgia rises up like a tidal wave, threatening to crush them.  
  
“Life was simpler, then. When it was just office politics.” Martin sighs.

“I wasn’t very kind to you,” Jon begins, and is cut off by Martin’s chuckle.

“You really weren’t. Elias actually said something to me about that once.”

“...he did?” 

“It was actually really terrible. It was right before he put, um, information in my head. I don’t want to talk about the specifics, though.”

“Mm.” Jon slumps against Martin, letting himself be rocked slightly. “I can extract information and experiences, but I don’t know that I’ve tried planting truths. But this is my world, isn’t it? I should be able to do nearly anything.” He reaches up, brushing a hand against Martin’s cheek. “I’ll think about it for a while first before I try, I suppose. And only if you want, obviously.”

“You want to give me a memory?” Martin says, unsure.

“Yes, a nice one. I was thinking about one of mine. I’d like to, well. I’m not really good about talking about these sorts of things. But I was thinking it might be nice to show you how I feel about you. Easier than saying so.”

Martin gently kisses the top of Jon’s head. “I’m no expert on all your spooky Eye powers, but I think it might need to be stuff I don’t already know.”

The tea supplies may be running low, but there is yet comfort in the world.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was originally thinking to theme these after the stages of grief but I didn't stick with it  
> also had a helen and annabelle bit but I did not like how that ended up and now that's on the cutting room floor and may reappear in some form later
> 
> thank you very much to everybody who leaves kudos and comments, you are all really great and I appreciate it a lot


End file.
